


Morning Has Broken

by maychorian



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-11 09:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19533274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maychorian/pseuds/maychorian
Summary: A small krayt dragon makes a kill.Originally posted to ff.n on 03-14-05.





	Morning Has Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Writers Race Challenge #6 at the Jedi Council Forums.

The creature squeals and fur sticks to blood-stained jaws. The krayt dragon yawns widely, displaying straight white teeth, watching the suns rise over the bones of the Tatooine desert. Morning has come like broken glass, shattered and bright, sharp to the touch, painful and compelling at once. Luke is still alone, yet he is pleased, both with the taste of the blood and the wetness as it soothes his scorched throat.

Luke squints toward the suns, wiping the blood from his mouth. He isn't sure why the morning makes him think of broken things. Perhaps he is now a broken thing. He remembers little . . . was there smoke, fire? Death. His aunt and uncle, broken things in the corpse of their home.

His memory is like shards of glass as well. There was . . . light. Dawn. Then red laser blasts, shouts and calls, the percussive thunder of blaster fire. Uncle Owen shoved Luke into the garage. Luke, lanky for his eight years, was still small enough to hide behind a pile of broken droid parts.

Since then Luke has been driven to seek something that is not broken, driven into the wilderness of jutting red peaks and yellow wastes. No doubt he would have died, had he not discovered that blood is like water.

Water, it has been many days since he has tasted water. Blood is good. Blood satisfies. But it isn't clean. Luke rubs his hands, trying to scrape off the red. There was little blood on his aunt and uncle, only black scorches. Still, he doesn't like it on his hands.

He is a krayt dragon now, small but mighty. He has learned to stalk, to pounce, to pierce the neck. Krayt dragons sleep during the day and hunt at night. Luke glances around, searching for a good rock to hide under.

Not far away, a canyon of red-brown rocks rips into the desert. Luke knows he must hide. The little creatures of the brown robes, the big ones of the long rifles—none must see him. He finds a crevice to wait out the day, deep in dry shadows, and soon falls into a light doze.

"Luke. Luke, I've found you."

A new voice. Luke opens his eyes warily. He's been found. They've come to finish the job. Perhaps now he'll be broken indeed.

An old man, streaks of red in his white hair. A kind face, an elegant voice. He reaches a hand into Luke's hiding place, but not too far. Not threatening. Offering.

"Come with me, little one. I'll set you right."

Luke studies bright blue eyes, so sad and old. He looks at the callused hand. It's been a long time since he's seen another hand besides his own small, stained one.

Slowly he reaches out, touches that warm, open hand. It closes gently around his small fingers and draws him out of his hiding place.

"All is well, young Luke. I will take care of you."

(End)


End file.
